Down Like A Hindenburg
by Cuppa Char
Summary: Mike's working like a dog, as usual... this time he's so in his zone, he might just end right out of it. Low blood sugar causes Mike to go down like a Hindenberg in the middle of court.
1. Chapter 1

For suits_meme prompt

**Phreakycat: I've got a major craving for some diabetic!Mike. More specifically, Mike with crashing blood sugar who faints manfully passes out in court. Because he tried to sneak a snack and got in trouble with Harvey, who was all WTF ARE YOU DOING PUT THE GRANOLA BAR AWAY, THIS IS COURT, NOT SUMMER CAMP (because Mike totally hasn't told him that he's diabetic). Then (to steal an expression from laylabinx) Mike goes down like the Hindenburg right in the middle of Harvey's dramatic closing arguments. At first, Harvey's all HOLY SHIT, THE KID IS OVERCOME BY MY GREATNESS AND SWOONED LIKE A VICTORIAN LADY but then he realizes it's more serious than that and sort of freaks out. **

Or you can come up with your own scenario, just so long as I get diabetic!Mike in crisis and Harvey saving him. :)

Summary: Mike's working like a dog, as usual... this time he's so _in_ his zone, he might just end right _out_ of it. Low blood sugar causes Mike to go down like a Hindenberg in the middle of court.

A/N: Tweaked slightly from OP, not giving Mike Diabetes, but opting for an (un)healthy dose of low blood sugar. (I will NOT neglect Growing Up... I just have to share my responsibilities like any good step-parent would.)

Disclaimer: I do not own Suits or the characters. No infringement intended.

**Down Like a Hindenburg**

It's late

Incredibly late

He's pretty sure he can taste the lateness on his lips

Along with coffee and tufts of puckered dry lips that he'd sucked on a few million times

Harvey left at least a few hours before

He'd graced him with some leeway though; he can have have a later start than usual as long as the paperwork and corresponding file was on his desk by the time he got in the morning.

_'Ten at the latest. I need you sharp for court, rookie.'_

He'd barely managed a mumbled thanks in return

Stumbling from the offices, he opts for a cab instead of his bike.

It's late

Incredibly late

By the time he gets back to his apartment, he briefly wonders if he should refill with something that equates as food, but his body vetoes his brain (and his grumbling stomach) causing him to dump his jacket and bag on the floor halfway between his door and beckoning bed...

He makes it to the end before face planting to the covers, body crumpling in on itself, and pushes sleep driven and slack face into his rather un-plumped pillow

He sighs

He ignores(oblivious)the want and need for food

Likewise, he ignores the need to rehydrate and smacks dry lips together, body rapidly falling into oblivion of the early hour darkness.

It's late

Incredibly late

xxx

By the time he's awake, body laden and unresponsive, it's already nearly 10:00. He needs to be ready for court by 2:00 pm. More importantly, he needs to be at work in fifteen minutes.

He struggles from the bed, which shouldn't have been even half the difficulty it was considering he wasn't tangled in sheets.

He feels odd – confused in what he thinks is a sleep-muddled way – and drags his ass into the bathroom to freshen up. The water that he splashes across his face seems to help so he promptly submerges his whole head into his half-filled basin. He comes up spluttering as some of the wayward water makes a move to his parched throat.

He coughs again and shakes his head in an effort to clear the foggy cobwebs from his sleep-laden brain.

He's aware that he should change, catching sight of his crumpled (and completely ruined) suit. He can only guess that it's drool that adorns his lapel. He wonders briefly what Harvey's reaction would be if he turned up for court in his current state. He grins slightly before it naturally falls into a grimace. He rubs at his eyes tiredly. Little black spots dance wildly across his vision when he takes his hand away.

One fumbled change later and he's dragging heavy legs (and arms that were suddenly two ton heavier) to his small kitchen. He practically inhales a glass of water.

He eyes the kitchen longingly, but the mere thought of loosing time to make something or even eat, causes an unnecessary headache both figuratively (Harvey) and literally (the pounding drums and little black dancing figures in hula skirts). Food and drink could wait until he was safely at PH. Until Harvey could see him and he could see that Harvey could see him. If he was lucky enough to hail a cab within the next few minutes he might just make it to the firm by 10:20. He then might be lucky enough to charm Donna into convincing Harvey he was there by 10:00. But knowing Harvey, and his luck, he would probably be waiting by his desk all knowing. And Donna, from personal experience, wasn't easily bought or charmed unless it involved lashings of servitude in form of frothy latte's. Which he most definitely did not have the time for.

It must have been the sleep-laden brain that masks the obvious way his body, and completely parched throat and quiet displeasure of his stomach, screams out for something more.

Yes, that what it was.

Well, that's what he would have said, if he was even half aware of it.

Harvey would have probably said_ 'Idiocy.'_

xxx

"Hey, Donna-" Mike croaks at her. Damn, he thinks, as he coughs to clear it.

Donna eyes him with a bored expression.

"Are you sick?"

"What? No?" He says with a shake of the head. He regrets it the second his head bobs on his neck, body suddenly feeling heavier. A little bit of nausea rises too.

He leans a hand across the raised wall of her desk until it passes.

"Take your diseased hand off my desk," Donna implores him in a quietly controlled voice. She flicks her hand to her half open draw. "I have pointy scissors just asking to be used."

Mike gives her look, evaluating her mood. Raised eyebrow, firm set mouth and unblinking stare and Mike was pretty sure he was at risk of loosing at least a couple of digits.

Mike removed his hand and raised both in mock surrender.

He briefly considered a smirk but abandoned it completely when her glare intensified.

"I'm not sick," He insists, dropping his hands before waving one around dismissively. "Just hungry and thirsty. I've had a busy morning and haven't had a chance to have anything yet."

"Huh.." Donna huffs, eyes crinkling suspiciously, before her head goes back down to glance at the paperwork she was working on before Mike had arrived. "Busy being a hobo?"

Mike doesn't have a comeback for that and looks down at his clothes, hands brushing his fresh on suit, and sniffing slightly. Considering how he looked this morning, he didn't think he looked bad at all.

"And the answers no, by the way."

Donna still has her head down.

"To what?" He asks innocently, Donna raises her head and they both eye each other knowingly, the start of small quirks of lips forming even though he knows it's a useless cause. "Even with the promise of a week of latte greetings."

Donna tilts her head and taps her pen on her desk.

"I would have considered it if you'd actually brought some with you," Donna said thoughtfully, but nods to the area of the associate pen. "But Harvey's already at your cubicle-hell."

Mike feels dejected even though he'd already played the scenario out, including a one Harvey Specter waiting impatiently at his desk.

"But he got the file. I left it on his desk, right?"

He hasn't a clue as to why it ended in a uncertainty. The only thing he could think of was that he was worried in his haste to go home and sleep, he might have forgotten something and ruined their case.

Donna nods and waves him off with her pen.

_Okay, all's good._

xxx

It takes him less than a minute to make it to his desk.

Sure enough, Harvey is sat there, hand resting against his face in a thoughtful (possibly worriedly preoccupied) manner and Mike abruptly stops, worried that his innate fear, that he'd fucked up, was a right presumption.

"Hey-" Mike starts, hoping his boss would fall into a rant about tardiness and his lack of respect for instructions to be in before said time.

"Donna says your sick," Harvey says, cutting him off with a quick look.

Mike startles and looks around quickly, surprised Donna could have passed on any (ir)relevant information so quickly. But then this was Donna they were talking about.

"I'm not si-"

" _'He's all pale and funny looking...' _" Harvey says with air quotes.

God, he hates air quotes.

"I'm not sick," Mike insists again (despite kind of feeling floaty and heavy all at once) before a thought occurs to him. "Is that why you look so worried?"

"I'm not worried," Harvey says and looks at him as though the mere thought (and therefore him) is absolutely absurd. He waves a file around in the space between them. "I've just been thrown a curveball, that's all."

"Oh," Mike says, the sentiment of I not being completely lost on him. He'd hoped that they were past that. Not that he had a clue what the curveball was or even if it actually involved him. His brain is trying to fire a million and one thoughts at once and he does another (discreet) shake of the head again (because the damn hula dancing spots are back). Thankfully Harvey's head is back down looking at a loose paper within the file. "What -"

Harvey cuts him off. Again. He seriously thinks both Harvey and Donna have started some ridiculous tag-team of _'How many times can you stop the pup from finishing a sentence...'_

"Go eat, drink. Whatever," Harvey says (seemingly interrupting his thoughts too), standing quickly. He thrusts the file into Mike's hand and pushes past him and the cramped cubicle. The movement is so fast that the cubicle spins with him and Mike has to swallow the nausea that follows and blink away the greyness to the cubicle walls. "But make sure the amendments are proofed and filed as soon as possible."

"Course," Mike says, slightly breathless. Harvey doesn't seem to notice.

He looks down at his hand holding the file. It trembles against the paper.

_Damn_

"And make sure a courtesy brief is sent to chambers," Harvey throws over his shoulder.

Mike is still staring down at his trembling hand with a frown. When he glances up he sees Harvey has paused and is staring back at him with an equal frown.

"Right..." Mike says, shifting the file to his other, less trembling hand. He clenches his temporary useless one into a fist and then releases it, tremors dissipating through the tips of his fingers. He musters up a grin. "We don't want to piss off any judges."

Harvey rolls his eyes and smirks at him before shaking his head and heading back towards his office.

Of course, Mike takes _'Go eat, drink, whatever...'_ as **'eat and drink after you've proofed and filed and sent courtesy briefs and done the whole court thing...'**

Which might explain his epic face plant later in the day (in the middle of court no less).

xxx

_tbc_

A/N2: _I think I have a kink for Harvey and air quotes_


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: To all who reviewed, including anyone I havent replied to yet – A VERY BIG THANK YOU! I have no idea what happened to my fic – it was on my log in account and uploaded correctly, as you all know and saw, but then this evening it dissapeared from my profile and the link wouldn't anymore, so I deleted it from my account and re-uploaded with a new chapter.

Hope this works (maybe is having some gremlins) Am I the only one?

xxx

Mike doesn't know where the time has gone. It's now past 1pm and he's read, proofed, briefed and filed (which one was it supposed to be? He opts for all of the above, although he's pretty sure at least one of them doesn't deserve to be there) and most definitely sent a courtesy brief to the judge in question. That didn't stop him calling the court house, at least twice, to confirm (the second with a slight – and poorly done – accent to cover the fact he couldn't remember if they'd confirmed the first time round.)

He shakes his head again and rubs at his eyes tiredly. He can feel the sluggish headache from before start to engulf him. Any other day, he'd relish having the pain, because at least it would blow away the cobwebs and give him something to anchor on to instead of the floaty way his legs, not to mention his chair, swam underneath him. But instead of clarity (and pain) he was was left with pain and cotton wool brain and clouds that sway listlessly (and no clarity).

He'd managed, at least, to swallow one coffee in a three relished gulps. He'd received a couple of odd looks from a few of the associates who had heard the loudness to his drinking. He'd smiled thinly at them before dropping his head to look at his paperwork again, sleeve wiping at his mouth at the wetness to them. He'd also snagged a forgotten granola bar from his draw and ravished half of it with one bite. He'd reluctantly pocketed the rest, knowing full well he'd not have the time to catch any lunch before court.

With a tired sigh, Mike trudges over to Donna, dumping his paperwork and file on top of her cubicle. She eyes it with disdain before glancing at him.

"Are you still sick?"

"I'm not si-... what's the point?" Mike starts to say before abandoning it completely. Partly because a) Donna always wins and b) he was actually starting to concede that he might be coming down with something. "You know, even if I was sick, I wouldn't miraculously have recovered in-" he pauses and looks at his watch for affect, already knowing the exact time. "- two hours and ten minutes."

Donna looks unimpressed and stares at him with steely eyes.

"Exactly. Now remove yourself and your papers from my desk," she says with a pointed pen. "A one foot radius from now own, rookie."

Mike pouts at her before trying to pull back, but his hands don't cooperate and some of the papers flutter down towards Donna. Despite her unnecessary fear of actually contracting something from him, she catches the loose papers with quick hands and thrusts them back to him

"Are you okay?" she asks with a frown.

Harvey and Donna seriously frown at him way too much.

"Ye..yeah," he says, but his voice sound uncertain. He tries to smile at her despite wanting to crawl into a ball and sleep for a hundred years. Donna doesn't look convinced. "I feel a bit crappy, okay? But it's nothing sleep wont fix."

He sees Donna's mouth twitch and her shoulders rise in what he can only presume was her attempt at not falling into a complete victory dance in front of him.

"If you play your cards right – and that includes two weeks of latte greetings -," she says, leaning forward with a more sympathetic-but-still-victorious-smile. "- I might try and convince Harvey to let you go home early."

"Done," Mike says quickly, not caring that this deed would actually add on a further fifteen minutes to his daily journey or that she had merely said she would _attempt_ to convince Harvey. He glances around him to notice that Harvey wasn't actually in his office. "Speaking of Harvey, we're supposed to be leaving for court _now_."

Donna nods and shoos him away with her hands.

"He said for you to meet him downstairs. He's gone to get some lunch. Ray should be out front."

Mike feels a tightness across his chest – his stomach rumbles with a nauseated hunger – at the thought of food. Real food.

Harvey is a kick-ass lawyer

Harvey is the city's best closer

He even has time for food

xxx

Harvey's just finishing his lunch when Mike finally exits the firm.

Although hungry, _and yes, starved_, Mike actually wants to puke. He's really feeling like crap now and something tells him that's it not just because he's tired and hungry and thirsty. He swallows down the urge to vomit in front of Harvey and the greasy napkin hanging from Harvey's fingers and concentrates, in a befuddled and bemused cotton-balled cloud – on the way Harvey is eating his hot dog (earlier he probably would have ripped it from his fingers and devoured it with manic glee) before averting his eyes from the obviously care-free and well-rested Harvey and the seriously uncool way his eating the last bite of his hot dog.

For someone so refined – and with such high expectations from others and life itself – he's pretty uncouth when it comes to his (hot dog) eating habits.

xxx

Harvey didn't miss the way the kid blanches at the sight of food. It amuses him for only a second before he realises how _off_ he actually looks. Donna was right, Mike did look 'all pale and sick looking.'

"Cutting it fine, aren't you?"

"The same could be said about you," Mike grouses at him. Yep, the puppie's under the weather. And grouchy with it.

Mike pushes past him without a second glance and climbs into to the back of the car. "Hi Ray."

"Hey, kid," he hears Ray greet his associate from the front. He climbs in a second later, after dumping the napkin in a conveniently within-reach bin and takes a sip from his coffee cup. He gives a little shove at Mike, who hasn't yet moved over, gentler then what he normally would have. Ray gives the kid a smile in the mirror. "... Uh, you okay?"

He flicks his gaze, in the the mirror, to Harvey instead who shrugs in response.

"Hmm... what?" Mike says distractedly, tearing his eyes away from his reflection in the window.

"Ray asked you if you were okay," Harvey informs him.

"What's with everybody asking if I'm sick?" Mike mutters suddenly. He pulls the files from under his arm and dumps them into his lap.

Ray quickly averts his eyes and goes back to pulling away from the curb. Wise move.

"Nobody said you were sick." Harvey points out, studying Mike's face. Despite the obvious pale features and slight pinched features – which Harvey presumes is not much more than a troubling headache – Mike doesn't look overtly ill. "He asked you if you were okay."

"Which actually means _'Are you sick?_'" Mike snaps.

Harvey raises his eyebrows, surprised at Mike's tone.

"As far as I know, the only one whose asked you that is Donna." Harvey says, getting snippy back. "I don't know what's crawled up your ass, or maybe – I don't know – you've reverted back to two years old again – and the only way you can tell anyone that you don't feel well is by being a brat, but I'm seriously wondering if I should be taking you into a court room right now."

Mike's eyes widen at that and he starts to shake his head.

"No, seriously Harvey... I'm fine, really. I just have a headache... and I'm a bit hungry. I didn't mean it to come out like that."

"You're still hungry? You did eat something, right?"

"Yeah. I got something earlier."

Harvey looks suspiciously at him, unsure if the kid was telling the truth, conceding that he wouldn't be that stupid.

He takes another sip from his coffee and feels Mike staring at him.

"What?" he says after swallowing a mouthful.

"Is that coffee?"

Mike's looking at him and the coffee with a look of wistful hope on his face.

"Yes..." he says slowly, eyes looking at Mike warily.

"Can I have some?"

"What? No!" Harvey says, changing hands as though there was a invisible barrier between them.

"Possessive, much." Mike mutters and then pouts. Damn, he hates it when the kid pouts. "You always take mine."

"Perks of the job," Harvey tells him with another cruel sip.

"Oh, come on Harvey," Ray speaks up from the front of the car again. "Give him a sip. He looks like he needs it."

Ray's right, the kid looks all _wilted_, and he's seriously considering offering him the dregs of his coffee when Mike suddenly looks down and away, flicking aimlessly through the file.

He offers it to him anyway with a nudge.

Mike looks up at him in complete shock and Harvey feels a small grin – a playful one – form in the corners of his mouth.

"Thank you?" Mike says with uncertainty, before taking it from him.

There's no crowing with glory or ribbing about Harvey actually caring.

_Yeah, the kid is definitely off his game._

xxx

Mike likes these moments.

The small gestures.

The ones that make Harvey look human.

He's starting to feel rapidly out of it but a part of him doesn't expect a grand gesture of concern from Harvey. It wouldn't be right. It wouldn't be Harvey. Besides, he liked to work Harvey. He liked the challenge.

So he accepts the coffee and gives him an off-kilter grin in return.

By the time they arrive at the court house though, his vision has blinked out once, his stomach dips and the cotton wool and fluffy clouds, in his head and clouding his vision, churn every which way except down.

xxx

Mike doesn't need grand gestures from Harvey, but he's starting to feel as though there might be something seriously wrong with him, and quite frankly? It's freaking him out.

Small gestures and the chase be damned.

He wont even admit he has a clue what the hell is happening regarding the case they're supposed to be winning. By the look on Harvey's face (pleased and smirking) it is going well. He's somewhere in the middle of his closing arguments, performing a merry dance for the jury's pleasure and the defences contempt.

Apart from focusing on the lines that crease Harvey's face whenever he smiles or does something he knows he shouldn't preen about, but does it nonetheless, that's where his focus ends.

Mike vaguely remembers that they are defending Daniel Edwards. Someone who had been unfairly dismissed after daring to speak out against the partner's of the firm he worked for when they had cut and run when the financial market had dropped, dumping their shares but leaving a few hundred people who were not in the know (members of the public and their own workforce who'd bought shares) to pick up the tab. Financially the partner's were secure enough to continue with their business while simultaneously firing Mr Edwards for breaking silence.

At one point he had thought his half eaten granola bar would do the trick and kick-start him (in his current state, he could claim deniable plausibility.)

He got as far as snagging it out of his pocket, halfway through the defences nonsensical babble, before one small rustle had Harvey snapping his head and looking at him with disbelief. "What the hell are you doing?" he had hissed at him under his breath. "Put that away. This is court, not summer camp!"

Damn Harvey and his eyes-like-a-hawk.

xxx

A cold clammy sweat breaks out across his face and his back. He feels it across his shoulders, shirt suddenly too clingy.

His slides a finger and hooks it into his collar and tugs it, desperate for his skin to able to breathe. He wanted nothing more than to tug his tie off and loosen his top few buttons, but he's sure that would definitely send Harvey into a coronary.

"Hey... are you okay?" he hears their client whisper from beside him, body leaning in closer. He might be imagining it, but there's nothing but heat that is offered.

_No_

_Oh god_

_Harvey_

He can't mutter a word because his lips now suddenly feel way too rubbery and a flutter starts just above his heart and rises up into throat, constricting it with it's palpitations.

Hands clamp tightly against the edge of the table.

Nails bend.

He suddenly has the overwhelming urge to drench himself (from the nice glistening jug just out of reach in front of him) or at least dab water on the back of his neck – anything to take the too hot flush from his skin. A nice glass of water wouldn't go a miss either.

He reaches for it with shaking hands. He's not sure if it's the tremors cursing through him, trebled in force, or the glancing touch, but it's suspended for all of a second before he sees it shift forward, topple and then fall.

There's a gasp (he doesn't know who. Him? Daniel Edwards? The judge?) and Mike stands abruptly just as the glass hits the ground with an explosion of cracking and splitting glass.

Harvey whips around, eyes wide and finds him immediately.

Mike stumbles sideways as he tries to track Harvey's movements even though he wasn't entirely sure which one of them was moving.

He tries to focus his gaze and zero in on Harvey, which was surprisingly difficult, and ignore the greyness to the cubicle – no, wait – the courtroom walls. It wasn't just the walls now though. A curtain of grey, grainy and dimmed, was slowly falling. It pinched from the inside out, forming a tunnel vision.

And despite the tunnel vision; Harvey, the jury, and the whole god-damn expanse of the courtroom interior felt elongated and stretched and he starts to panic.

Harvey's too far away

Too far

Away

Intentional or not, he stumbles again in what he thinks is Harvey's direction.

He catches a glimpse of him. He's saying something, but Mike can't hear him over the sudden rush of noise in his ears, a hand outstretched and Mike is only half aware that the bodies moving around him are probably moving twice as fast as he's actually seeing and feeling.

The greyness wins out in the end, just as Mike has a moment of clarity, _I should just have eaten the damn granola bar_, before starting his inevitable fall.

He's out before he even reaches the ground.

Nothing to cushion his fall.

He goes down like a Hindenburg (which is pretty epic for someone who doesn't like grand gestures.)

xxx

_tbc_


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** Usual disclaimers apply. Song featured – Hurts, Silver Lining. I always feel this is Harvey's song, in his relationship towards Mike. I see him as a shield. Literal and methaporically.

Chapter a bit short, but i'm just going with the flow.

**Chapter 2**

He'd ignored the subtle sound of movement just behind him. The look that adorned the Judge's face, seconds from instructing 'ORDER! ORDER!' told him it was coming from the area just off to the side of him.

He'd ignored the hushed whisper, despite hearing the tinge of urgency to it, and attempted to carry on with his speech.

Harvey is probably halfway through his closing arguments when he realises something terrible has just happened. His head whips around at the sound of shattering glass and a gasp. His eyes find the broken shards and rapidly spreading pool of water before they travel up and see the stalled hand still mid air. Clear tremors course through the arm attached.

Harvey doesn't have to see the rest of the body to know it's Mike but he looks anyway. The kid pulls his hand back immediately, but staggers sideways, as his whole body moves drunkenly.

Harvey takes a step towards his stumbling associate before stopping still at the realisation that Mike looks absolutely terrible. A white wash paleness has stripped him down bare, but there's also a unmistakable glint of sweat lingering in the younger man's hair-line. Mike takes a heaving breath, chest puffing out, before being sucked back in.

"Mike?" Harvey asks stupidly. There's a murmur spreading amongst the crowd behind them and and the judge or opposing council mutter something towards him. It takes all of Harvey's will power not turn his back on Mike and respond to whatever snide remark is being made (Harvey's sure it's something along the lines of _'Specter, get your associate under control.'_)

The remark though was no excuse for Harvey's ineptitude (for not realising Mike was already too sick to be here in the first place) at actually responding to the rapidly out of control situation. He, quite simply, freezes at the sight of Mike's face as it snaps up and looks directly at Harvey, despite being uncoordinated in every other movement, his face awash with fear, panic and confusion.

Mike makes an attempt at saying something. He can only presume it's meant to be his name. It comes out strangled and slurred and he panics even further, thinking Mike's about to stroke out right in the middle of court. The kid takes another staggering step towards him just as Harvey and a few other surrounding people – Edwards, someone from their opposing table, a few people sat in the gallery just beyond the gate – who have realised that there's something medically amiss all step forward and try and intervene. No one really is within reach accept Edwards, who was stood behind Mike and being heavier but shorter was no actual match to the suddenly tilting bean pole that Mike was.

He calls Mike's name again as he is taking another few hurried steps towards his charge, arm out-stretched. He knows it's useless when Mike's eyes suddenly roll upwards, only the whites showing (Harvey takes a half second of absolute hysteria to register that people do actually do that), and he starts his inevitable drop. And that's what it was, because Harvey can see that Mike's out before he even reaches the ground, falling hard – nothing to break his fall – like a Hindenburg in all it's mighty.

Harvey winces at the sound it makes and is sure it is more shattering than any glass could be.

xxx

_And I wont let you drown, when the water's pulling you in_

_I'll keep fighting, I'll keep fighting_

_The rain's going to keep following you wherever you go._

_The clouds go black and the thunder rolls_

_And I see lightning, and I see lightning_

_When the world surrounds you, I'll make it go away_

_Paint the sky with silver lightning._

_I'll try and save you, cover up the grey_

_With silver lightning. _

_**(Silver Lightning, Hurts)**_

Somewhere between hitting something hard and being held against a sweet smelling cotton, Mike becomes half aware that there's some little things that aren't right. Small details, but important nonetheless. Like he's no longer standing (or sitting... because he can't remember the sequence correctly that lead him to stand) and knows, despite the helter skelter feel around his head, that he is somewhat prone, that it's dark and before that there was light. His body _hurts_ like it's just been hit by a semi and he wonders, briefly (before he forgets that he doesn't really care because he's in world of pain and feels nauseas), if he's been knocked off his bike.

His head hurts too and it takes another second to realise his eyes are closed. He thinks, for all that's it's worth, (and really it's not worth a dime if he feels down and out and stretched and wretched as though his body is being slowly pressed into the confines of the concrete of the soft-yet-hard flooring beneath him. _Sinking, sinking, sinking..._ ) that it explains the darkness until a sudden and too painful memory jogs him into remembering the greyness from before, the grainy curtain and funny, never-ending tunnel.

It hurts to to think so he tries out a little groan and would have rubbed at his head had his arms been useful. But they weren't because his whole body was heavy and loaded and he was _sinking, sinking, sinking_ into an early grave of concreted doom. His eyes appear to be as useless as the rest of his body, eye-lids laden and unresponsive. He feels his heart-beat still too close in his throat speed up and thump wildly as a muffled noise surrounds him, undistinguished and undefined. Panic sets in when he realises he doesn't know where or whom it is from.

He makes another startled moan from apparent useless lips.

It must have alerted the noise to his half awareness and suddenly it's even closer, hovering above him, until it slowly pulls his rapidly sinking body from the confines of the concrete. He startles once until he feels himself being shifted left and he's sinking once again until something soft and... pleasant. He's not up, but he's at least upright, and a familiar smell tickles his nose as as the noise murmurs softly against him.

He can smell cotton and nice after-shave, the expensive kind, the material soft against his skin and instantly, even when nothing else makes sense at all, Mike knows he's in safe hands with the noise with nice material and even nicer smell – spicy and sweet.

_Harvey..._

Another set of panic ripples through him and he feels a shudder despite his body being useless, because he's terrified that he's falling back, drifting back down into the uninviting drowning concrete, and feels his throat constrict and choke at just the thought of it. Mike desperately wills his body to respond, to latch on to the material against the left side of his face, and dig his fingers in.

As if in response, the noise, who he really hopes is Harvey (anyone else and he'd hate being weak, and pathetic, and useless – even with Harvey, he hated being all of those things, but at least he'd shield him from prying eyes before dragging his ass out and ream him out for it) tightens his hold and pulls him against ruffled and trembling material.

Mike, despite not being okay with a lot of things at the moment, is okay with this because the material feels nice and spicy and sweet wash over him as the noise murmurs increase. Mike lets himself sink even further into the folds of it.

He's halfway between god-like spicy sweet material and an oblivion he can live with, so he doesn't register the increase in the urgency to the noise until it shakes him hard. By then, he's afraid it might be too late.

_When the world surrounds you, I'll make it go away_

_Pain the sky with silver lightning._

_I'll try and save you, cover up the grey_

_With silver lightning._

xxx

_tbc_


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: okay, first of all – Yes, it rather convenient that there is someone with a BM machine in the court room. A convenient plot device and rather a easy route, but it serves up a purpose (and pushing up the suspense – for Harvey, anyway. ) And while Mike's down for the count, I really enjoy toying with Harvey's pretty obvious _caring _for his associate by making him scared. I _will _explain in the next chapter why she carries one.**

**I had a battle of my own. With what way to spell hypoglycemia – the ae way? the ea way? I settled on hypogycemia in the end because it got too tiresome. And wikipedia had a page on it.**

**Standard disclaimers apply**

**Chapter 4**

It takes a second longer than intended for Harvey's brain to kick-start again and then he moves in a rush – time quickly moving forward as though someone had stuck it on pause – and everything speeds up around him.

He skids forward by his associates fallen body – lax and unmoving – and drops immediately down on to his pristine knees, suit be damned.

He's aware of a throng of people hovering over them and feels like battering them away. He'd only be interested if one of them was actually a doctor or nurse. Hell, he'd even take a vet if it meant Mike was actually in at least half competent hands. He can just about make out the bodies from the crowd behind, some raised and looking on interestedly. A muffled wave of hushed excitableness swims through the crowd and reaches them a second later.

He swallows down the urge to glare at them – all of them – and concentrates on his charge before him. Mike's showing no signs of stirring.

"Mike?" he he asks. Behind him he hears the judge order the room to be cleared and for a bailiff to arrange a first aider to come to the room. Mike doesn't respond to his name . The face is still startling pale, his hairline peppered with dampness. "Kid?" he asks again, planting his hand against the side of his face. It's clammy to the touch.

There's a little groan of response. It's hardly there at all, really, but he feels a slight shift of Mike's head as he tries to push his face into his palm.

"Hey?" He tries again, swiping his thumb across his cheek. "C'mon, kid. Open your eyes eyes for me?"

Mike, unsurprisingly doesn't respond, but there's a flutter as though he's struggling to comply. Harvey, though, thinks it's more of some intrinsic and in-grained response to him (or an automatic response to try and bring himself back to the surface – fear and a loss of control fuelling the small twitches) rather than any awareness.

He glances up around him again. The room is slowly filing out, a few people throwing worried or nosy looks in their direction. Edwards hovers near-by and offers to stay but Harvey shakes his head and ludicrously moves his body as though he and his well-tailored suit would block Mike from any unwanted attention. He doesn't know what has come over him, but he knows he doesn't want anyone to see the stupid puppy all defenceless and... weak.

"Uh, excuse me?" a voice says from somewhere to his left.

When he glances up he sees a woman in her mid thirties. He vaguely remembers seeing her when he'd came in to the court room. Fourth row back. She was pretty in a momsy type of way. Harvey noticed every woman, even the ones he wouldn't necessary end up sleeping with.

"I might be able to help."

He was about to ask how, when Mike let out another moan. Louder this time. More desperate sounding.

"Mike?" He asks again, leaning over him more.

Mike lets out a little choking sound and his lips move restlessly against each other in an incoherent whisper. Leaning forward he just about makes out what thinks is a squeezed out _'sink...' _

Harvey doesn't know why, but he has a sudden urge to lift Mike – to hold him against him. It's probably a ridiculous move, and the kid will most probably loose what little blood he had rushing around his head, but he thinks it's easier to control the situation with Mike closer, pressed to his chest. He hopes Mike would feel his heart-beat through his chest, despite it beating a little too fast.

Mike lifts easily and lists even easier against him. He drops a hand against Mike's arm that trembles between them. He can feel it through the rest of his body too.

But that's okay

It masks his own.

xxx

The woman from before is still there.

"Is he diabetic?"

He's still holding Mike up and wondering where the hell the first aider is.

"Wha-" he asks. He looks at Mike and wonders briefly if Mike hadn't disclosed everything, before squashing it completely (who in their right mind would disclose their entire, disastrous time between college drop out to pot seller-slash-test taker and _not _disclose that they were diabetic). Besides, nothing like this had ever occurred before. Why hadn't he insisted the kid go home when Donna – and yes, him too, had the first inkling he was unwell. He shakes his head. "I... don't think so."

He's surprised by how shakyhis own voice sounds.

The woman steps through the gate and drops down on the other side of them. She takes a second to glance at Mike, resting her hand on his exposed cheek. Again, it's ridiculous, but Harvey tightens his hold a bit too possessively.

"Hypoglycemic?" she asks, dropping her hand and looking back up Harvey. She has a direct stare and Harvey can see she is serious and determined. He relaxes slightly – he doesn't know who the hell she is, but she seems to know more than him, and that, really, is enough.

Harvey shrugs and can only offer "Nothing like this has happened before."

She nods, her shoulder length hair bobbing with her.

"It doesn't mean diabetes. Anything could cause low blood sugar. The only reason I'm asking is because he seems to be having an episode like my daughter use to have."

Harvey knows what hypoglycemia is, but hearing the words _low_ _blood sugar _bounce around his head makes him realise how stupidly blind he has been – and how dumb fuckingly idiotic Mike has been. The kid has probably not even had anything to eat today, and quite honestly it scared him to wonder when he had actually eaten, suspicion telling him he hadn't a chance when he finally got home. He knows he's had minimal to drink too, the whining in the back of the car and the dry lips all evident enough.

"Use to?" Harvey asks, concern lacing words despite knowing it didn't, if controlled probably with due care and attention, have to result in mortality. But, this, he knew was not controlled (or expected) and there was definitely a lack of due care and attention.

"Yes," she said, lifting her head from where she was rummaging in her bag, a flutter of reassurance smiling at him. "It's well controlled now."

Mike stirs against his shirt, body squirming. The trembling increases as he lets out another little choking sound before it twists into a miserable sob. A few tears escape from the side of his closed eyes and his body stiffens, hands flexing as fingers splay out and then recoil tightly into his own palms.

He makes another miserable sound of displeasure and Harvey is sure he feels him try and push deeper into his side.

"Hey, it's okay," Harvey reassures him, pulling him tighter, squeezing him more. It's not though, not at all, because despite the calmness of the woman, Harvey knows it's not normal – _not okay – _to be down and out for so long. "Just open you eyes for me, kid."

Mike doesn't though. He's gone silent against him, seemingly content to be pressed there – against his own trembling self, and he can't help but increase the urgency to his voice or the little shake he gives Mike to go with it. Mike's head simply lolls against him.

"Hey," The woman says, taking his arm and squeezing it. "It's okay."

He stares at her as she turns away for a second before turning back and holding a small palm like device. It had a small screen and two buttons on the front.

"May I?" she asks, indicating with the equipment towards Mike. "I need to test his blood glucose."

Harvey nodded dumbly.

She revealed a small piece of purple plastic and pushed a small strip of shiny paper into the bottom of the device, "I need to prick his finger. Can you hold his hand?"

Harvey wordlessly picked up Mike's now laxed right hand – the one nearest the mystery woman – and offered her his index finger.

It was fast and over before Harvey had time to register. Although the small plastic had a minute needle, Mike still flinched as it pricked at his finger and Harvey found himself hushing and murmuring down to him. Harvey wasn't someone who liked to inflict pain, especially to Mike, but he was somewhat reassured that it had elicited some form of response. Responding to pain stimuli could only be good.

Harvey watched, mesmerised at the small bubble of blood on Mike's finger, seeing it placed against the tip of the strip. It was kind of magical to realise just a small drop of blood could tell someone so much about someone's state of health.

The finger and freshly built bubble of blood is re-offered back to Harvey and he takes the offending finger, unsure what to do with it. Eventually he runs his thumb along it, wiping it away against his own skin.

"So, what the diagnosis doc?..." he starts to ask before tailoring off at the frown on her face. He didn't like that look.

"Normal blood glucose range is anywhere between 4-8."

From her tone and worried frown Harvey knows that it's nowhere near any of those numbers.

"Hypoglycemic symptoms normally start to show between 2-3."

"Okaaay..." Harvey says slowly. He wasn't liking where this was going.

She holds the monitor between them.

_Shit_

1.8

xxx

_tbc_

**A/N2: I actually did some background reading for this fic. I know a bit anyway as a lot of my psych patient's have diabetes. In my first week as a nurse I had a patient develop acid-keto-cydosis (sp?) as a complication. One of the scariest things I've seen (medically) while working in MH.**

**This fic and possible future chapters will probably have some info from**

**.nih. gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0001423/**

**. org/wiki/Hypoglycemia**


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